


Withdrawal

by StrawberryWhorecake



Series: The Inquisitor's Lion [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drug Withdrawal, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 18:49:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2783969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrawberryWhorecake/pseuds/StrawberryWhorecake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Artemisia Trevelyan goes to see Cullen, only to see him suffering from lyrium withdrawal. Unable to see him suffer she does what she can to help him through his trial. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>SFW fluffy sappy fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Withdrawal

He was the first thing on her mind when she woke. This was nothing new to her, in fact she now considered it a habit. But this morning was different. She barely remembered getting dressed. Her daily routine was now an autonomous procession while her mind dallied on Cullen.

Artemisia thought of his smile, his laugh, his effortless transition from commander to man. Artemisia loved his sigh, his husky voice when they stole moments together on the rampart.

Their relationship had yet to progress beyond longing glances and stolen kisses, but Artemisia could sense his intentions. He was not a fickle man, prone to flights of fancy. He would never have expressed interest if he thought he might tire of her. He did not hide his thoughts or emotions. He was nothing like the boys she grew up with, the silly noble men that she remembered from her youth.

She tried to push that boy from her head, but sometimes he managed to surface in her thoughts. Artemisia found it strange that thinking of Mikael used to bring pain, but now it brought nothing. She was numb to the man who hurt her in the past. The foolish young rake to woo and seduce the youngest and most awkward Trevelyan daughter only to abandon her for the elegant and beautiful older Trevelyan daughter.

 For years she was bitter; she couldn’t bear to see her siblings or parents. She left Ostwick that night. Began training with her uncle, A Templar turned Chancellor, and began the path that led her to be at the Conclave years later. She had agreed to assist her Uncle’s relatives, men she barely knew, all of whom died at the blast.

Her uncle was the only contact she had since the attack on Haven. She remembered receiving his tear stained letter filled with joy that she lived. Artemisia smiled at the thought. Sometimes it felt as though he were the only person in her family who had faith in her. She remembered when she was a young, clumsy girl, fleeing from her family. He never asked any questions, but he opened his home to her like she was his own, trained her with a sword and made her feel like she belonged somewhere for once in her life. 

That morning she found herself strolling along the battlements to his quarters. She was unsure why or what she planned to say to him, she followed only the desire to see him.

Artemisia knocked softly and when there was no answer she pushed the heavy door open. Empty. Cullen’s office was dark and quiet. She sighed and began to close the door, but before it clicked shut she heard a loud crash followed by Cullen’s curse. It came from above, she entered the office and looked to where he slept in the rafters.

“Cullen?” She called tentatively.

“Leave.” He said hoarsely, but quickly apologized. “I’m sorry. I…I just…”

Another crash quickly followed by a pained groan.

Artemisia quickly scaled the ladder that led to his bedroom. She was not prepared for the sight that awaited her.

Cullen sat on the end of the bed, his elbows braced on his knees cradling his head. He did not look up. His breast plate lay on the floor where he dropped it, along with his heavy boots. He wore only his trousers and white muslin shirt. He sucked in a breath as his fingers fisted in his own hair. His body covered in a layer of sweat.

Artemisia couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her. She had never seen Cullen without his armor and in this state he appeared strangely vulnerable, A trait she would have never attributed to him before.

He looked up to meet her gaze. His eyes were red and marred with dark circles, his skin was pale and his expression was one of anguish.

“No.” Was all he muttered while trying to turn away from her. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

She bit her lip as she cautiously walked towards him. “I have before.” She said uncertainly.

“Not like this.” He said. “I can’t…”

He tried to stand before his knees buckled beneath him and he fell back on the bed.

He groaned. Artemisia rushed towards him.  She took his head in her hands, his skin felt like ice beneath her fingers. “Cullen, Lay down.” She said softly. He shook his head

“I can’t. I have work to do. Matters that need my attention.” He spoke in ragged breaths while avoiding her gaze. “I have to inspect the new recruits. Send soldiers to the Western Approach. I have to meet with the other advisors. The Inquisition…”

“The Inquisition,” She cut him off firmly. “Needs you at your best. I can take care of these matters for you.”

“No. I couldn’t. To shirk my duties would be…”

“Cullen.” She said pleadingly. He finally met her gaze. “Please. I can’t bear to see you like this. Please rest so you can feel better. If you push yourself then it will only be worse. Everyone will understand.”

He smiled slightly. “Alright.” He whispered. “But if you need anything…”

She shushed him. “I can handle it.” She kissed his forehead lightly before forcing him to lie down.            He sighed and covered his eyes with the back of his hand.

Artemisia descended the ladder and shut Cullen’s door quietly behind her, unsure what she was going to do.  In truth, the Inquisition relied heavily on Cullen and Artemisia was not sure she could handle his work on her own. But she knew that if he pushed himself too hard that it would only make his recovery slower and chance of relapse higher.

She shook away the thoughts. She would not allow that to happen.

 

Several hours later, Artemisia returned to Cullen’s quarters. She quietly ascended the ladder while her arms were laden. Cullen lay in the same position where she had left him. Artemisia hoped he had managed to fall asleep but he lifted his head at her arrival.

“Lay back down.” She said sitting beside him on the bed. He looked no better than when she had left him. Artemisia sighed.

“Do you need me?” he asked feebly as he tried to sit up. She pushed him back down gently. She sat at the head of the bed, placing his head in her lap.

“No.” She cooed. “Everything is fine. Here.” She held a canteen of water to his cracked lips. “Drink.”

He lifted his head slightly and drank eagerly of the cool water before his head collapsed against her legs. He shut his eyes tight again and winced.

“Where does it hurt?” She asked quietly.

“Everywhere.” He rasped. “My head mostly.”

Artemisia pulled a warm cloth from the bag she lugged up the ladder. Gently, she placed the cloth on his brow and eyes, shielding them from the light. He sighed and sank deeper in the mattress.

She sat in silence simply watching him for an inordinate amount of time. Her emotions towards this man confounded her. She could not recall having ever felt this way about another person. She gently brushed her fingertips over his brow and carefully massaged his temples. Artemisia’s touch was tender for fear of causing Cullen more pain, but he did not protest her ministrations. She smiled and slowly exhaled. Softly, she began to hum. The only song she really knew was  a nursery rhyme her grandmother used to sing to her. The words were long forgotten by Artemisia but she knew the melody.

She quietly hummed the song while massaging Cullen’s brow. Artemisia’s mother had always told her that couldn’t carry a tune and even now her voice broke with the simple melody.  But none of those thoughts crossed her mind in this moment. The only thing Artemisia thought about was the man laying here and how his pain broke her heart.

Artemisia was so caught up in her own thoughts that she didn’t even notice Cullen moving until he took her hand in his. Her breathing hitched. He did not speak or move in any other way, he simply raised his hand and took hers in it. He held her tight. Artemisia couldn’t look away. It was such a simple yet intimate gesture.

She squeezed his hand gently as she continued her soft humming.

 

His eyes felt as though they had been sewn shut. It took several attempts to finally open them. He looked cautiously about without moving his head. It was the first test. Nothing. He lifted his head. Still nothing. He shut his eyes tight and braced himself for the final test. Cullen clenched his teeth as he forced his body to sit up. Again nothing. He sighed with relief. The pain was gone. Now weakness would plague him before he would return to normal. He thought about standing, but knew that his legs couldn’t handle that just yet.

Pale moonlight drifted in through the rafters. Other than that, darkness. He heard soft breathing beside him. It took him a moment to remember. Artemisia. She was asleep, her head leaning against the headboard of the bed. The rise and fall of her chest slow and steady. The imprint of his own head was still on her pants. He couldn’t help the smile that came across his lips. She was beautiful like this, asleep with her pale skin and red hair illuminated by moonlight. Something in his chest fluttered. She amazed him. He remembered the day she first saw him at his worse. He expected her revulsion, her disgust. He did not expect her acceptance or understanding.

Cullen never planned for her. He never planned for anyone to come into his life, but she did. She uprooted his thoughts. He couldn’t think when she was near, couldn’t think when she was away.

How? He thought. How did this happen? He kept himself at a safe distance from most people, he hadn’t really opened to anyone in the last decade, be it friend or lover. The last ten years had been dark, living in a cesspool of his own hate. He felt betrayed by everything he ever knew, everything he had come to trust. His life had been a parade of established ideals crumbling at his feet.

As a young Templar, Cullen didn’t understand the strict regulations placed upon the mages. But his kindness had been betrayed. They took him, placed horrible visions within his own mind, and when he did not break and take his own life like the other Templars, they imprisoned him.

How many days had that lasted? Or was it weeks? By the time the Grey Warden came to the tower, he was already seething in rage. An intense ire had planted itself in his soul and would take years to be uprooted. The Order was impressed with ability to resist whatever spells the mages had put on him. They promoted him. They encouraged his hatred, his seething rage towards every mage.

He realized now that it had been easier for him to cope. It was easier to hate all mages than to accept that some were vile while others innocent. Cullen wanted to the mages to be evil. It was too late when he realized how wrong he was. It was too late when he saw that Templars and Mages were not black and white, but grey, each shade varying in no order whatsoever. The corruption within the order disgusted him, but he waited too late. How many innocents could have been spared had he acted sooner? Why didn’t he alert someone to Meredith’s dwindling sanity? Why didn’t he relieve her sooner?

He sighed. His mistakes haunted him. But this was his second chance. Now he could protect people from something they actually needed protection from. He looked around Skyhold, at the soldiers under his command. This was what he wanted to be a part of, a force for the people, not an ulterior motive to oppress them.

Now he looked at the woman who quietly slumbered in his bed after a full day of caring for him and his duties.

_What did he do to deserve her?_

He could think of no good deed performed that the Maker would reward him with such an amazing woman.

This bout had been the easiest one by far to get through. The pain had been no less; it had lasted just as long as any other time. But it was her. She had made his pain bearable. She spoke softly to him, she held him in her lap. She gently caressed his throbbing head and hummed a quiet song while she did so.

It had been Artemisia who got him through these moments. Cullen knew that with her here he could endure whatever was thrown at him. He gently brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. She shifted slightly and mewled softly. He smiled, unable to fathom the amount  of emotions that she brought out of him.

She yawned and opened her eyes slowly. She smiled when she saw him.

"Hey," She said hoarsly.

"Hello." He replied.

"How are you feeling?" Artemisia asked as she leaned towards him.

"Better."

Her smile widened. "I'm glad."

"How are you?" He asked furrowing his brow slightly. She was quiet for a moment.

"Hungry."

He laughed then realized he was also hungry. Starving, in fact.

"A trip to the kitchen?"

Artemisia nodded as she edged off the bed. Cullen tried to stand only to realize that his legs refused to work properly.

"Are you alright?" She cried, her eyes suddenly filled with concern.

"I'm fine." He said "Just weak."

"Can you walk if I help you?"

"I'm far too heavy for you." He said shaking his head. She smirked.

"I think I can handle you. Come on."

Cullen sighed with defeat. The journey down the ladder was difficult and he couldn’t suppress the pang of guilt that he felt over having to lean on her as they trekked across the ramparts and into the keep.

Their progress was slow, his legs refused to cooperate properly but Artemisia was no small or frail woman. She supported him without complaint the entire time. Cullen tried to meet her gaze cautiously, to judge her mood. When she saw him looking she met his stare and beamed up at him. Something in him broke at that moment. He felt a strange snap followed by a warm sensation flowing throughout his body. He looked, amazed, at this woman who shouldered him without complaint, who met him with smiles. She held him up. Literally and figuratively. He knew in this moment that survival without her would be difficult.

Cullen had not even realized their progress had halted until he heard a voice. 

"Is this how the Inquisitor spends her time? Dragging invalids about Skyhold?"

Artemisia chucked. Cullen groaned.

"What do you want, Dorian?" He asked with mock annoyance, he had actually grown to like the mage in the time they had spent together at Skyhold.

"I was just on my way to drink myself into a stupor. I see I'm not the only one with the right idea."

"I'm not drunk..." Cullen began but stopped himself. He had no real desire to reveal anything about his day. Dorian smiled knowingly.

"Of Course." He said "But where are you going?"

"To the kitchens." Artemisia supplied.

"Yes! Food will help wash down all that bad ale you imbibed."

Cullen rolled his eyes.

"Do you need some help toting this massive man about? Even without the ridiculous armor he can't be very light."

"No." Artemisia said. "I can handle it."

Cullen frowned and shot Dorian a look. The mage nodded slightly.

"I insist!" He said slipping Cullen's arm about his shouder.

“Your friendship troubles me.” Artemisia laughed.

With Dorian’s help they managed to move at a slightly quicker pace. The hall was dark, only a few torches illuminated the vast expanse. They eased Cullen onto one of the long benches. He sighed with relief as he sat down.

“I’ll go see what’s left from dinner.” Artemisia said as they left for the kitchens.

When the two men were alone, Cullen Spoke. “Alright, go ahead.”

“Go ahead and what?” Dorian asked.

“I’m sure you have some joke at my expense ready.”

The mage laughed. “Scores of them. But it doesn’t seem like now is a good time.”

Cullen said nothing.

“I promised Varric a game of Wicked Grace.” He said as he turned to leave. He walked only a few paces before turning back to Cullen. “You should consider yourself lucky. Not many women would drag you halfway across Skyhold.”

Cullen nodded. Some moments after Dorian left, Artemisia burst through the door with a small tray. She looked about.

“Did Dorian leave?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Well, all I could find was this.”

She sat the tray before him revealing seared fish and blackened bread.

“If you don’t like it I could try to…”

He took her hand, cutting her off. Their gazes met.

“Artemisia.” He said his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s perfect. Sit with me.”

She smiled slightly before sitting beside him. He wordlessly pulled her close to him. She did not protest and he reveled in her warmth as they ate silently. _Yes._ He thought. _I am lucky._


End file.
